Blotchy sunlight filtered through the trees onto Elora's face as she sat quietly on the black horse, her heart still pounding from her earlier attack. Her fingers gripped Azazeal's cloak, but she would not raise her eyes to him.
Her mind wrangled, waves crashing inside her, and every part of her wanted nothing more than peace.
The horse trotted steadily, but she felt each of Azazeal's movements — his power, his steadiness, his quiet. She looked down at the green scarf covering her face, and her trembling fingers kept fumbling with the edge of the silk.
"Keep it on," Azazeal said, his voice low but tinged with an inhumane snarl.
His wings, folded tightly behind him now, rustled faintly in the wind.
"I'm not going to be able to suppress the urge to murder anyone who lays eyes on you for the time being."
She didn't argue with him, she had no strength to do so.
